


Swallowing Razor Blades (CURRENTLY UNDER RE-EDITING)

by isychiae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Post-Endgame, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, School, Self Harm, Short Drabble, i am v v sad lol, im sorry already, inappropriate use of razor blades, my favourite hobby, please don't eat razor blades, projecting onto peter parker, razor blades, this is a depressing one folks, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 08:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18807901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isychiae/pseuds/isychiae
Summary: Sometimes Peter thinks it’s easier to swallow razor blades than leave his room. Not that he’s ever swallowed razor blades before, though that option can often seem pretty favourable.EDIT: I’m re/editing this and potentially turning it into a prequel for my work “Don’t (Do It)” soooooo check back later to read a muchhhhh better version of this :’)





	Swallowing Razor Blades (CURRENTLY UNDER RE-EDITING)

**Author's Note:**

> Massive trigger warning for self harm, please please please be careful.
> 
> Sorry if the quality of this isn't on par with my other work, but i kinda just had to get this one out.
> 
> Edit: I’m re-editing this because it is wayyy too melodramatic lmaooo

 

Sometimes Peter thinks it’s easier to swallow razor blades than leave his room. Not that he’s ever swallowed razor blades before, though that option can often seem pretty favourable. It’s just so much easier to stay in his room and the cloying comfort of his own self-doubt than to try and make a difference. Peter’s just glad that Queens has been pretty quiet recently.

It can’t be that labour-intensive, swallowing razor blades. In terms of preparation, that is. At least, with strength like Peter’s, all it takes is a firm stomp on one of May’s disposable razors to break apart the plastic. From there the only thing that needs to be done is the swallowing itself. Or at least, he can keep them hidden in a little cardboard box. A  ‘just-in-case’ type of scenario.

(‘just-in-case’ usually turns out to be an ‘external-use-only’ situation.)

He’s fine, though. Generally speaking. His grades are still up.  He goes to school. Talks to his friends. Clubs are good. All fun ‘n stuff.

Peter’s fine.

He’s functioning.

(He’d say coping but that implies that there’s be something to cope _with_ , and there isn’t. You can’t really experience traumatic events if you’re ~~dead~~ not around for them.)

And Peter’s been going out too. He doesn’t completely confine himself to his room.

He tried to visit Steve, once. It was weird, seeing him all old and wise. Wizened. Whatever. They never really clicked, which was kind of sad. Peter didn’t know what to expect. Mentorship maybe. There was a kind of steeliness behind Steve’s smile though. Something false, and sharp to the touch.

(There was a hurt in Steve’s eyes too. Peter made his excuses and left early, a part of him feeling like he’d intruded on some private, secret emotion.)

Anyway, swallowing razor blades couldn’t be that painful. Peter’s had a building collapse on him. He’s been to space.

  ~~He’s felt his body dissolve.~~

Peter’s healing factor would probably dull some of the discomfort, take the edge off (as it usually does).

Training for the New Avengers gives him some sense of purpose, sort of. Rhodey is surprisingly kind to him, in an awkward uncle sort of way. They’re working on recruitment plans, and he’s begun skyping with Shuri. She’s pretty cool and keeps promising him upgrades to his suit. He’s been putting off buying plane tickets for almost a month now.

Swallowing razor blades is beginning to look pretty appealing right now. It’s 3am, and Peter is sitting on the fire escape. He’s cold, shivering, but the weather tugs at his slipping awareness. There’s rain, and it stings on his skin.

It’s one of those nights. He can’t sleep, can’t stay awake, can’t do anything but sob on and off and stare out the window until frustration takes the better of him and he goes outside. The metal of the fire escape is freezing and the railing digs into Peter’s back, but it’s either this or the roof, and frankly Peter doesn’t trust himself to go up there.

Not when it’s so easy to slip.

 Peter settles for subjecting himself to the downpour for a little while longer, until common sense prevails and he realises quite how cliché it is for him to be brooding alone at 3am. He climbs back through his bedroom window, disappointed in some nebulous, existential way, and collapses on his bed. He’s still somewhat damp, but exhaustion rapidly wins out against any feeble inclination to get up, and soon Peter’s dozing, facing the wall, a draught from a crack in the window playing with a couple strand of his hair.

He wakes up still drowsy, but a little lighter. The box of razor blades remain under his bed.

Just in case.

 

**Author's Note:**

> whelp, guess we’re done :’)
> 
> EDIT: I'm thinking of turning this into a full length fic, I've got a couple of ideas that I want to explore, so let me know if you'd be interested in seeing that!


End file.
